


just one more night (i promise)

by meloncholy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Blowjobs, College Student Yuuri, Crying During Sex, Fisting, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smoking, Some Fluff, Songfic, heartbroken!victor, heartbroken!yuuri, no happy ending, skater Victor, yuuri’s not a skater in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloncholy/pseuds/meloncholy
Summary: Cleaning the kitchen with Victor hurts more than when Victor leaves him, and he knows it’s because he’s getting a taste of what he can never have, and he’s too selfish to let that go. He thinks it’s cruel of Victor to bait him if he’s only going to leave him to dangle (He’s not), but Yuuri still loves Victor even if Victor doesn’t love him back. (He does)The story of how Katsuki Yuuri almost gets everything he's ever wanted. (He doesn't)





	just one more night (i promise)

**Author's Note:**

> songfic -  
> [girlfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kaRUAICLYWQ) \- bea miller

_I don't wanna be your girlfriend_ _  
_ _I just wanna play with your hair_

 

They collapse on the bed, naked and sweaty. Yuuri’s still panting. He lies on top of the covers, Victor on top of him, head on his chest.

 

Victor is undeniably beautiful. Pretty or handsome isn’t big enough of a word to describe what he is. He’s the kind of beautiful that makes strangers stop in the street and stare, the kind of beautiful that garners him sponsorship after sponsorship, the kind of beautiful that attracted Yuuri instantly from across the party and made him drop to his knees ten minutes after they met.

 

Yuuri is just okay. He knows this. He knows he’s not ugly but he’s never thought his brown eyes, untamable hair, and chubby belly were anything special. Neither did anybody else.

 

But Victor is kind. He’s kind in that he lets strangers and fans alike take selfies with him in the street without batting an eye, and not only gets sponsorship offers, but keeps sponsors for years and years with his not only his competition wins but with his winning personality. He’s kind in that he dealt with Yuuri’s post-sex anxiety the first few times quietly and comforts him whenever he needs comforting.

 

Delicately combing his fingers through the silver hair, Yuuri marvels at how it glows in the moonlight let in by the half opened blinds in Victor’s room.

 

Victor’s silver hair is somewhat his moniker. Skating fans know to hush when they see the distinct silver head skate to the center of the rink.

 

_“Is it real?” That’s the first thing Yuuri said to him, hesitantly reaching up to pat the silver locks in question. He’d just gotten off his knees from Victor blowing his load in his mouth, and that’s the first thing he’d said._

 

_“Yes...it’s real,” Victor huffed out a laugh, clearly taken by surprise._

 

Yuuri knows if they dated, he’d be quickly overshadowed by the more extravagant aspects of Victor’s life. His impossible training regimen, his impossible fans, the impossible media. They could never work anyway. Victor is too flamboyant, where Yuuri is lowkey. Victor is a public figure, where Yuuri is nobody. It’s fine. Yuuri doesn’t want to date right now anyway. (He does)

 

That’s why he moves his hand out of Victor’s hair and gently moves towards the other side of the bed. Victor’s already asleep anyway. (He’s not) He doesn’t notice. (He does)

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _When we get up in the morning_ _  
_ _I'll be better on my own, I swear_

 

Yuuri wakes up to a chest pressed flush to his back and a hand curling around his waist, a soft breath fluttering across the back of his neck. Somehow, no matter how much space Yuuri puts between them in the night, they always end up entangled in each other in the morning.

 

Slowly, as not to wake Victor, Yuuri extracts himself from Victor’s grasp.

 

The sunlight is filtering through the same half-opened blinds. Yuuri thinks Victor is somehow even more beautiful, glowing in the sunlight than the moonlight.

 

As he quietly pulls on his discarded garments on the floor from last night, Yuuri waits for the familiar feelings of shame and anxiety to crash into him after everyone of these encounters. And it does. It comes after him in waves, first the shame of succumbing to another night of his primal desires though he’d promised not one more after the last one. The humiliation of coming whenever Victor calls, the embarrassment of the mixture of cum and lube that’s currently dripping down his thigh right now.Then the anxiety of being completely helpless to his emotions, letting them overtake him again and again. The regret of his actions feel like they’re crushing him, compressing his chest and squeezing so tight there’s no air left in the room for his lungs.

 

But he’s fine. (He’s not)

 

He’s gotten better after the first few times, and he knows how to handle them now. He doesn’t need to bother Victor.

 

Fully clothed now, he throws one more look over to look at Victor, still sound asleep, completely oblivious to Yuuri’s mental turmoil.

 

He debates whether to leave a note and decides against it.

 

He’s careful to not let the door slam on his way out.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _Smoking in bed_ _  
_ _Sleeping like the weekend_

 

 _Another night._ Another night that Yuuri gave in, another night that he couldn’t control himself. _When is he going to stop this?_

 

Sighing, he reaches over for the pack of cigarettes and lighter in the drawer. It’s a bad habit he picked up from his sister, he supposes. The euphoric feelings of relaxation, of taking a break from his anxiety, were too great to pass up.

 

When he did try to quit, his hands shook for a month and the anxious, sweaty feelings he tried so hard to shake came back tenfold. It was three days without sleep that made him quit quitting.

 

Taking a drag, Yuuri looks over at the stirring beauty next to him. Victor’s argent hair is flopping into his eye, and there’s a light smile gracing his lips in his sleep. (he’s gorgeous)

 

He doesn’t bother opening a window when he smokes anymore. The entire apartment reeks of cigarettes and secondhand smoke.

 

Yuuri watches carefully as Victor’s eyelashes flutter and his eyes crack open. When he offers Yuuri a sleepy grin and a mumbly “good morning”, the tightness in Yuuri’s chest is back. He can’t keep doing this, can’t keep Victor for himself, can’t keep being selfish. His heart aches because of the guilt, but also because he can’t lose this.

 

Victor scrunches his nose suddenly, and the sleepy grin is gone. Sitting up, he casts Yuuri a bewildered look.

 

“Yuuri! I didn’t know that you smoked,” he exclaims, surprised.

 

What is he supposed to say to that? He just shrugs in response.

 

Frowning, Victor says “They’re bad for your health, you know.”

 

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Yuuri just shrugs again. Of course he knows. He sees anti-smoking billboards on the street all the time and just takes out another cigarette. It’s bad for his health, but how is he supposed to say that he doesn’t care about his health? He read somewhere online that every cigarette takes eleven minutes off your life. He’d spent ten minutes calculating how many cigarettes it would take to take ten years off his life. 477,818 cigarettes. He almost wants to laugh, laugh at how many times his friends, colleagues, people off the street, have told him it’s bad for his health.

 

Obviously displeased with Yuuri’s lackluster answer, Victor sighs, “ _Yu-uuuri…,_ ” dragging out the vowels in his name.

 

Reaching over, Victor plucks the cigarettes from Yuuri’s unsuspecting fingers.

 

That gets a reaction.

 

“Hey!” Yuuri exclaims.

 

“You may not care about your health, but I do.”

 

At that, Yuuri huffs and crosses his arms, leaning back against the pillow, as Victor searches for an ashtray to dispose of the cigarette, and finds one under the bed.

 

Even if Yuuri’s intent on ruining his own health, Victor is a world-class athlete and he’s right; his health is important. Yuuri can’t risk even the off chance of Victor getting sick because of all the secondhand smoke lingering around in Yuuri’s apartment; he’d never forgive himself.

 

He doesn’t consider for a second that Victor was talking about Yuuri’s health, not his own. (he was)

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _And you're in the kitchen_ _  
_ _Why the fuck is you cleaning?_

 

Something’s burning.

 

Yuuri sits up in a frenzy, _fire_ in the back of his mind.

 

Rushing to the kitchen—never mind that he’s naked—there’s a _fire_ , he’s not the least bit prepared for what he sees.

 

Victor, looking ridiculous in only his boxer briefs and Yuuri’s blue and white gingham apron. He has a spatula in one hand and his other hand is swatting frantically through the ashy smoke billowing over the stovetop like that’s going to solve anything. There’s a bag of flour that has been recently upended and is currently sending clouds of white settling across the kitchen island, an egg is cracked on the floor, and batter is dripping...from the ceiling?

 

Rubbing his eyes, Yuuri shakes his head and looks back at the scene, blinking twice. Victor’s still too preoccupied with the burning mass of...something in a pan to notice Yuuri, still trying to desperately salvage what’s there. The smoke hasn’t gone down any less, not for a lack of trying from Victor, so Yuuri’s still staring at him through a screen of grey smog. If Yuuri wasn’t such a broke college student to afford working smoke detectors, they’d be going off like crazy now.

 

Leaning against the doorway, he clears his throat to make himself known and maybe figure out _what the fuck is going on here._

 

At that, Victor whirls around, eyes wide. He halfheartedly tries to hide the spatula behind his  back—never mind that there is clear evidence of something fishy all around him, like _batter on the ceiling_ —and offers a sheepish smile at Yuuri.

 

“Yuuri! You ruined the surprise!” Victor pouts childishly.

 

“And you ruined...my kitchen,” Yuuri counters, raising an eyebrow, “What surprise?”

 

Victor lets out a long dramatic sigh. “Oh Yuuri, _moya lyubov_ , I was trying to make you breakfast in bed!” At this, he steps away from the stove and gestures pointlessly to the charred lump in the pan.

 

Stepping closer to Victor and the stove, he stifles a laugh as his heart clenches in his chest. _Oh._ Breakfast in bed.

 

“And what...exactly were you trying to make?”

 

“Pancakes!” Victor answers enthusiastically, “It was fine until I tried to flip it, Yuuri!”

 

Laughing softly, Yuuri takes the burnt pancakes and dumps them in the trash, setting the scorched pan in the sink.

 

He turns around to find Victor’s eyes drinking up his figure hungrily.

 

“What—” he starts, but he’s cut off by Victor pressing the full length of his body flush against him, and only then does he realize that he rushed out of the bedroom _naked_ , in pursuit of a fire that was just Victor. His face burns a degree hot enough to rival the charred pancakes and he covers up by burying his face in Victor’s neck, mortified.

 

 _“I might have failed at making pancakes Yuuri, but the only thing burning now is my love for you, moya lyubov,”_ Victor whispers sensually in his ear, making his face even hotter and his spine tingle all the way down to his toes.

 

 _Love._ That’s what Victor said. Never mind that it was part of a horrible pickup line that has Yuuri groaning, _he said it._ Yuuri doesn’t know what to feel. He’s been avoiding that word ever since he woke up one night and looked at Victor and felt such a fondness that made his heart ache and drop at the same time when he realized what the feeling was. He’s sure Victor’s just joking, just playing, that’s who he is, he doesn’t really _love_ Yuuri, he can’t—

 

Victor’s kissing his ear and moving on to suck at his neck and Yuuri decides that his internal monologue slash meltdown can wait.

 

He brings Victor’s face down to connect their lips and at that, Victor bends down to pick him up, and on instinct, he hooks his legs around Victor’s torso to support himself. Swiveling, and never breaking the kiss, Victor sets Yuuri’s bare ass on the kitchen island, and it’s _cold_ and unsanitary and he’s sitting on spilled flour, but never mind that, Victor’s lips are back on his neck, seemingly intent on making sure everybody knows that Yuuri’s been thoroughly debauched.

 

He obligingly spreads his legs and Victor moves to stand in between them. He’s painfully aware of all the blood in his body rushing south, and he’d be embarrassed of it, getting so hard, so fast, if it weren’t for the very obvious tent that Victor’s pitching, glaringly evident even through his boxers and the apron.

 

Yuuri has developed a sudden hatred of that apron. He wants to see it burn.

 

“Off, off,” he mumbles, trying to untie the stubborn double knot behind Victor’s back, and looping it off his neck, pushing his boxers down, seeing that _gorgeous_ cock spring to life right in front of him. It’s flushed red at the tip and surrounded by a neat trimming of silver hair at the base, and it’s beautiful, just like the rest of Victor.

 

Suddenly, Victor bends at the waist, at albeit an awkward angle, and takes all of Yuuri down in one go. _Shit._ He was not prepared for that. Moaning, he brings a hand up to cover his mouth before he can make anymore embarrassing sounds. But Victor starts bobbing his head, and taking all of his length so smoothly, his hand can’t even stifle the sounds he’s letting out. He tongues at the slit and Yuuri can’t help it, his hips jerk up as he thrusts roughly into Victor’s mouth. Sliding his hands in the smooth silver locks, he strokes Victor’s hair apologetically, but he didn’t seem to mind, still sucking up and down Yuuri’s cock like he was made for it.

 

Just as Yuuri feels the coil of tension start in his belly, just as he’s about to tumble over the edge of the cliff, Victor pulls off.

 

“V- _Victor—,”_ Yuuri chokes out, whining at the sudden loss of contact.

 

But before he can say anymore, his knees are being pushed up closer to his chest and there’s a wetness sliding down, past his dick, past his balls, along his perineum, and the flat of Victor’s tongue is slicking up his most intimate place, and he can’t _breathe,_ much less speak.

 

“ _Fuck.”_

 

He can _feel_ Victor’s smirk against his ass, that cocky son of a bitch, but that cocky son of a bitch is lapping at Yuuri’s pucker like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had, and Yuuri’s too euphoric right now to be embarrassed about the needy huffs and pants and gasps he’s making anymore.

 

“You’re so beautiful, _moya lyubov_ , open and needy for me like this,” Victor mumbles into his ass, making Yuuri flush with the praise.

 

Victor starts licking into him, opening him up with nothing but his tongue, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough, he needs more _now—_

 

“Lube—get the, the l-lube,” Yuuri manages to sputter, tugging on Victor’s hair gently.

 

He looks up, and Yuuri thinks he just fell a little more in—in _love_ with this man, when he’s looking up at Yuuri with his pupils blown out like he’s the sun and moon and the only thing that matters, and his hair is messy from his bedhead and Yuuri’s tousling, and his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are red and Yuuri just wants to kiss him. So he does, bringing Victor face-to-face with him and leaning him, planting a soft kiss on those rosy lips.

 

Drawing away like he’s in pain, Victor gives him a soft grin and _runs_ to the bedroom, back in record time with the lube and a winning smile.

 

Taking the lube from him, Yuuri squeezes it onto his own fingers and rubs at his hole, slick and pliant from Victor’s saliva already, plunging one finger in and then two, roughly preparing himself. Usually, he loved it when Victor did this for him; it always felt like such an intimate act, the calm before the storm, before they fucked and were too worn out afterwards for anything else intimate. But now, he was too impatient and too in a rush to get Victor’s dick in him to wait anymore. Gazing up, he sees Victor’s face, watching him finger himself with almost a reverent, awestruck look on his face. Resisting the urge to look away and now sufficiently prepped, he grabs Victor’s cock and lathers it with the same lube, giving it a couple hurried strokes before lining himself up.

 

At this, Victor’s hands come up to his face, grabbing him for another kiss, which Yuuri enthusiastically obliges. His hands slide down from his face, down his shoulders, down his waist, to grab at his ass, as he lets Yuuri line them up and then he plunges in carefully. They’ve done this too many times not to be familiar with each other’s bodies, but it still feels new and exciting every time; except now, they know what the other likes best.

 

For example, Victor knows exactly what angle he has to thrust up at to hit Yuuri’s prostate, and he does, his cock brushing against that spot in him, and Yuuri sees _stars_ , or maybe it’s just Victor, he’s not sure. He knows to stroke Yuuri in time with his thrusts, and Yuuri shouldn’t be this close so soon but he is.

 

And Yuuri knows to rake his nails down Victor’s back, leaving red stripes there that’ll be there tomorrow, because for some reason, Victor likes his possessive side. He knows that when Victor pauses his erratic thrusts to lean down and kiss Yuuri sweetly, that he’s close too, and at this, he clenches, and Victor kisses him more deeply.

 

After a few more thrusts, Yuuri is spurting white stripes across Victor’s fist, his stomach, and he thinks some gets on the kitchen island. Victor fucks him through his high, and soon he’s coming too, filling Yuuri up with the reminder of what they did.

 

Victor leaves him with shaking legs and a pounding heart and returns with a wet washcloth and a dazed smile, reserved just for Yuuri.

 

Afterwards, when they’re both cleaned up and both are wearing boxers, at least, they return to the kitchen and Yuuri remembers what a mess he’s left with, and turns to Victor with a mock glare.

 

But Victor only laughs and gets started on the bowls and pans in the sink, doesn’t leave like Yuuri thinks he will, like he has every other time after sex.

 

And it’s later, when Yuuri’s balancing on a chair, wiping the remains of pancake batter off the ceiling, with Victor holding it steady so Yuuri doesn’t fall, that it hits Yuuri that this is all painfully domestic. He nearly falls off the chair, and Victor catches him, because _of course_ he does, Victor will always catch him, until he can’t.

 

Cleaning the kitchen with Victor hurts more than when Victor leaves him right after sex, and he knows it’s because he’s getting a taste of what he can never have, and he’s too selfish to let that go. He thinks it’s cruel of Victor to bait him if he’s only going to leave him to dangle (He’s not), but Yuuri still loves Victor even if Victor doesn’t love him back. (He does)

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _I'm trying to be clear_ _  
_ _I'm not sending mixed signals_

 

He’s waiting for his chai tea latte ( _chai tea_ —what a dumb name for a drink he thinks.) with his earbuds in, hands stuffed in his pockets and face hidden under a sanitary facemask when a hand claps his shoulder.

Turning around, he’s met by Victor’s shining eyes and a big grin. He takes his earbuds out in surprise to catch the tail end of Victor’s greeting.

 

“—thought it was you!” Victor smiles warmly at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s me…” Yuuri mumbles. He’s not used to seeing Victor outside, in anywhere but either of their apartments. And he certainly doesn’t want Victor seeing him like this, in ratty sweatpants and a hoodie, sleep deprived and just here for his coffee so he can go home and work on his thesis proposal until three in the morning.

 

“What are you up to? Do you have time to catch up?” Victor asks, and if Yuuri was paying more attention, he would’ve noticed the hopeful gleam in Victor’s eye and the tremble in his lips. But he doesn’t.

 

“Ah—” he’s about to decline, but he stops because what could thirty minutes of catching up hurt? ( _it’s_ him _, forever_ him _,_ he _could be hurt_ )

 

It’s not thirty minutes. They settle at one of the homey wooden tables at the coffee shop with their respective drinks (chai tea latte for Yuuri, vanilla frappuccino for Victor), and they _talk._

 

It’s so much different from every other meeting they’ve had, back to their first meeting, but it’s different and better at the same time.

 

It feels like—it feels like they’re on a _date._ And it hurts because Yuuri knows it’s not, knows that Victor only wants a quick fuck but is too polite and kind of a person to jump right into that, so he’s here. On a non-date. With the love of his life.

 

But Victor is funny and interesting, and says all the right things and Yuuri laughs as he tells a story about his rinkmate, Yuri Plisetsky. Victor talks about skating and his poodle, Makkachin, and Yuuri talks about his senior thesis and his poodle, Vicchan, who he left in Japan. They exchange dog pictures and funny anecdotes but nothing too serious, nothing too deep, and the entire thing is lighthearted and fun and makes Yuuri want _want want._

 

It’s not thirty minutes. It’s three hours that feels like thirty minutes.

 

Afterwards, Yuuri invites him over to his place because he figures that’s what Victor wanted in the first place, and he wants it too. But Victor looks surprised when he asks, even though he accepts, and Yuuri worries he’s done something wrong.

 

But at Yuuri’s apartment, they quickly fall into an easy, familiar routine, and his worries are discarded, along with his clothes.

 

Victor is gentle and caring as he seats himself slowly in Yuuri, and once he’s all the way in, he fucks into him almost lovingly, peppering Yuuri’s face with kisses. It’s too sweet and too domestic for Yuuri to take, so he flips them over on the bed to straddle Victor.

 

He enjoys the surprised look that appears on Victor’s face from this sudden act of boldness from Yuuri. It’s nice to be the one surprising Victor, since he’s so adamant about surprising everyone else all the time.

 

Adjusting himself line up with Victor, he sinks down and bites down the moan that’s caught in his throat. Victor has no such reserves, and he moans Yuuri’s name without abandon, which makes Yuuri flush all the way down to his chest.

 

Bouncing lightly, testing the waters, Yuuri experiments a little until he finds his rhythm, then rides Victor shamelessly, enjoying the little moans and whimpers that escape Victor’s mouth. He loves doing this to Victor, being able to reduce the world champion to _this_ , this gorgeous man who’s moaning Yuuri’s name and begging him to _keep going, don’t stop, oh god, Yuuri—_

 

And Victor’s coming with a choked off cry, screaming Yuuri’s name. He rolls off of Victor and lays down next to him, lazily stroking himself, so close to completion, until Victor bats his hand away and replaces it with his own. He doesn’t know why, but Victor’s hand is so much better than his own, and he’s right on the edge, so close to pleasure, and he falls right over, shuddering and clamping his hand over his mouth to keep from moaning Victor’s name.

 

They cool down for a bit and then wash up. And it’s cold, so they snuggle under Yuuri’s covers, naked, and Victor’s pressed up against his back, a lazy arm thrown over his torso.

 

 _“Moya lyubov,_ that was amazing,” Victor mumbles into his ear, pressing a kiss onto the top of his ear.

 

 _Moya lyubov._ He’s heard Victor say it several times by now, and he still doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t ask.

 

Victor taps his shoulder, and he turns around to face him.  

 

Victor has an uncharacteristically shy smile as he reaches up to tuck a sweaty lock of black hair behind Yuuri’s ear.

 

“I had a really good time today,” he whispers, looking at Yuuri.

 

“And I’m not talking about the sex,” at this, he laughs, “though the sex was breathtaking as always.”

 

Now Yuuri’s confused. Not the sex? He tilts his head, a questioning look in his eyes.

 

“I had a really good time, talking to you today,” Victor continues with the same shy smile, “I loved learning more about you.”

 

Oh. Yuuri sucks in a breath.

 

“Can we do it again sometime?”

 

And it’s just too much. Today was an anomaly, a coincidence because Victor caught him at the coffee shop. Doing it again would be too much like a real date, like they’re a real _couple,_ and they can’t, they can never be. Fucking _and_ going on dates pushes the realm of “friends with benefits” into “ _boyfriends_ ” and Yuuri’s heart can’t handle it. They _can’t,_ he reminds himself.

 

For a second, he forgets why they can’t. But then he remembers his surprise at seeing Victor today because he hadn’t seen Victor in a month, last he heard wasn’t he was in Beijing? Victor’s life is too extravagant and too over-the-top, too full of skating and competitions and the press, and there sure as hell isn’t any room for Yuuri in it.

 

Fucking a few times a month he can handle, but if they were in a relationship and Yuuri could only see him a few times? He deserves better than that, he knows it, and Victor deserves better than him, he knows that too. Victor practically demands attention, and he should be with someone more like him, someone more flashy and extroverted, like _Chris Giacometti,_ one of Victor’s skating pals _,_ not anxious, boring _Katsuki Yuuri._

 

Now he’s hesitated too much, and Victor’s face falls, that shy, hopeful smile replaced by a set line, lips pressed together almost in a grimace, and Victor should _never_ look like that. Smiling, bubbly Victor should never look so sad, especially not because of Yuuri.

 

“Ah—forget I said anything, it’s stupid,” he brushes it off, not meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

 

He should say something. Something like _No, it’s not stupid at all I loved talking to you today and oh did I mention I love you?_

 

Instead, Yuuri says, like the asshole he apparently is now, “It’s probably best if we don’t,” in a soft voice.

 

And Victor’s face falls even more than Yuuri thought was possible, as he nods solemnly, lips still set in a straight line and eyes still not meeting Yuuri’s.

 

When Victor gets out of the bed and starts to get dressed, Yuuri pretends like his heart didn’t just deflate and is now letting out air like a balloon popped by a needle. He did this after all.

 

And when Victor shuts his bedroom door gently and let’s himself out with a quiet, heartbroken, “good night”, Yuuri doesn’t reply.

 

His thesis is forgotten for tonight.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _So why you still here?_ _  
_ _Don't you got somewhere to be? Ooh_

 

Another month passed. Yuuri thought that was the end of that, the end of an era. They’d been fucking on and off for nearly a year now, and it had to come crashing down at some point. He thought he ruined it. (He didn’t)

 

Until Victor showed up knocking on his door at eleven at night.

 

His usually lustrous hair is dulled and his usually shining eyes are cold and flat. Emotionless. He’s wearing his team Russia jacket, and Yuuri knows he was just in Barcelona yesterday. He must have come here as soon as his flight landed.

 

Yuuri’s surprised, to say the least.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get any words out before there’s another mouth on his, and he kisses back reflexively but he tastes alcohol and he knows he should stop but Victor’s pushing him into the apartment and swinging the door shut and leading them towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss and he _should_ stop. (He doesn’t)

 

They’re in Yuuri’s bedroom, somehow having shed all of their clothes along the way, and Victor’s pushing Yuuri on to the bed— _rough_ , in a way he never was before—and flipping him over, so his weight is on his elbows and knees and his ass is up for display, but he doesn’t have any time to be embarrassed about being so exposed because Victor’s grabbing the lube and shoving a finger up his hole— _crude._

 

He briefly wonders again what Victor’s doing here—that’s what he was going to ask earlier, but the thought dissipates because before long there’s three fingers up his ass and he’s begging for it, wanting to be filled up with something bigger.

 

“ _P-please, fuck me!”_ he hears himself say, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

 

Victor obliges, sloppily lining himself up and shoving into Yuuri. It burns, a little. It hurts in a good way, but something’s different tonight; _Victor’_ s different tonight. Victor was always the perfect lover—in bed, that is—and don’t get Yuuri wrong, he enjoys what they’re doing right now, but Victor was always so _gentle,_ so _considerate,_ of Yuuri and his needs in bed, and now he’s just— _not._

 

Yuuri pants through the exertion, and above him, he can feel Victor breathing hard too. Victor’s cock brushes up roughly against his prostate and he gasps. Below him, his own dick is hanging heavy and ignored, leaking precum onto his newly washed sheets.

 

“ _I’m going to make you cum without ever touching your cock,”_ Victor pants, _“got it?”_

 

Yuuri shivers below him. It’s not possible, he thinks. It’s never happened before, he _needs_ some friction. But there’s something about Victor’s tone that tells him this is non-negotiable. He nods.

 

Victor thrusts into him harshly, hitting his prostate with every snap of his hips, making Yuuri wail and yelp with pleasure.

 

He feels hands come up to his hair and _yank._ He gives a grunt of pain, taken by surprise. Victor pulls out all the way and circles Yuuri’s pucker with his cock, teasing.

 

“Beg for it,” Victor snarls, mean. _Mean? Since when is Victor ever_ mean, Yuuri thinks to himself.

 

“ _Please, please, p-plea—”,_ Yuuri doesn’t even know what he’s begging for but he knows that he was so, so close to orgasm and he needs Victor’s cock back in him _now, now, now._

 

Without a second’s hesitation, Victor snaps his hips again and plunges deep into Yuuri, deeper than before, splitting his ass in two and making Yuuri _scream._

 

He’s so close now, he’s a bathtub about to overflow, a man at the edge of a cliff about to fall over, a windowpane about to shatter. His orgasm is so within reach now, something almost tangible, so close he can almost grab it. _Almost._

 

His cock is so heavy and so hard and so _neglected._ He needs to rub against something and he tries to rut against the mattress, to his embarrassment, but he’s too far gone to care. Something’s stopping him from grinding against his bed though—Victor’s fingers are digging into his waist, hard enough to bruise, keeping him in place.

 

He tries to reach down with one hand and stroke himself, _just one stroke_ , he thinks desperately, with all the air of a man about to lose his mind. Just one stroke will be enough to push him over the edge.

 

 _Smack!_ Yuuri’s hand falters as he looks over his shoulder in shock, as the red-hot handprint on his ass begins to bloom. He barely registers the pain, too surprised at first, and now he’s only even more painfully aroused.

 

Victor’s hand leaves his waist to push him down onto his shoulders, pressing both of Yuuri’s wrists into the mattress with one hand, keeping him pinned down.

 

“ _What did I say,”_ Victor hisses, “you’re only going to cum with my cock up your ass, or not at all.”

 

And Yuuri feels tears building up in his eyes, tears of humiliation, arousal, and frustration. He blinks them away rapidly, not wanting to embarrass himself even more.

 

Victor’s thrusts are getting more erratic, and Yuuri can tell he’s close, as he presses his sculpted chest flush against Yuuri’s back and sinks his teeth into Yuuri’s shoulder, making him gasp and whine. He doesn’t draw blood, but the mark will be there for days, he’s sure of it.

 

And with that, Victor spills into his ass, collapsing onto the mattress beside him, panting and exhausted.

 

Yuuri’s still hard and wanting, but doesn’t dare touch himself. He’s still on his knees, asshole exposed, leaking Victor’s cum.

 

Unexpectedly, Victor comes up behind him and shoves two fingers in his puffy, abused hole. He yelps, caught off guard. He’s warm and wet and sticky inside and Victor’s lazily scissoring his fingers, opening him up impossibly more. Yuuri burns with the humiliation of knowing what he must look like to Victor, open and sloppy and loose.

 

Victor inserts another two fingers in, and it’s wider than his cock had been and Yuuri didn’t even know he could be stretched this much, but it’s nothing compared to when he adds his thumb and Yuuri’s clenched around Victor’s wrist, shaking with arousal and face burning with shame.

 

Victor moves his hand up and pushes it back in, and Yuuri knows he’s enjoying this, enjoying watching Yuuri’s hole take him in even further, but he’s closer to orgasm than ever before and it only takes one brush of Victor’s hand against his prostate to tip him over the edge. He’s arching off the bed, cock making a mess beneath him, and he doesn’t care that tears are leaking out of his eyes and he’s _sobbing_ and Victor’s seeing him like this, because he’s too far gone and he blacks out for a couple of seconds before he comes to.

 

When he does, Victor’s hand is still in him and without the haze of an imminent orgasm approaching, the shame of the degradation hits him hard. He’s humiliated that he just got off to Victor’s hand in his ass, he’s even more humiliated that he _enjoyed_ it. He collapses on the bed and only then does Victor take his hand out with a sickening _squelch_ of lube and cum.

 

Forcing Yuuri to look at him, Victor tips his chin up and sticks his thumb—the thumb that was in Yuuri’s ass not two seconds ago—in Yuuri’s mouth, still covered in slick.

 

There’s a roaring in his ears and Yuuri’s aware that his face is burning again, all the way from the tips of his ears to his chest as he works his mouth around Victor’s thumb and sucks. And it doesn’t stop there, he cleans Victor’s whole hand with his tongue, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at it.

 

When he opens his eyes again, Victor’s gone.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _I'm not a party or plan_ _  
_ _I don't need your love_

 

Victor’s been avoiding him. He’s sure of it.

 

Or at least he’s sure until he sees Victor sitting on the floor outside of his apartment. Well, he does like to surprise people.

 

He sees Victor before Victor sees him, and for a second, he considers bolting. He could sneak down the stairs, wait for Victor to go away—ah. Too late. Victor sees him and stands up, brushing off his expensive cashmere coat.

 

Yuuri takes a breath and walks over with jelly legs, as Victor walks over to him with a watery smile.

 

“Hi Yuuri!” He chirps cheerfully, but Yuuri knows better. He can see the shake in Victor’s hands as he offers to help Yuuri carry his groceries, can see the tremble in his smile.

 

“Hi Victor,” he tries warily, unlocking the door. He figures Victor was here for a fuck or something.

 

He ushers Victor into his apartment and gestures for him to set the groceries on the kitchen island. (where they once fucked)

 

“Yuuri, we need to talk,” Victor says, solemn. Well. That’s not what he thought was coming.

 

But he nods and motions for Victor to sit at the kitchen table while he puts on a kettle for tea.

 

He walks over carrying two mugs, and offers one to Victor, who takes it gratefully. Yuuri waits while Victor takes a sip.

 

Victor sets his mug down and takes a breath.

 

“Yuuri, I’m so—I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks on the last word. (so does his heart)

 

Yuuri tilts his head, confused.

 

“I—I, last time, I was drunk, I’m so sorry,” Victor’s rambling now. It’s not like Yuuri didn’t know he was drunk, he tasted the vodka on Victor’s tongue from their first kiss that night. If anything, he should be the one apologizing, of taking advantage of Victor when he was drunk. But it certainly didn’t feel like _Victor_  was the one being taken advantage of.

 

In the background, Victor’s still talking, “—understand if you don’t want to see me anymore, I was way out of line—”

 

“Victor.”

 

Victor looks up from where he was nervously twisting his mug in his hands, as to keep them occupied to keep them from shaking.

 

“You—you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Yuuri says, “I, um, I loved it,” he confesses, averting his gaze.

 

And it’s true. He can’t count how many times he’s brought himself to completion in the shower since that night, thinking of how Victor had thrust into him so messily, how he had come from nothing but Victor’s cock and fist in his ass.

 

Yeah, the drop after that night was the worst he’d ever had and he’d nearly suffocated himself by bundling up in all his blankets and pillows. Yeah, he’d felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to breathe and he’d hyperventilated for hours, and yeah, he didn’t sleep that night at all, his anxiety and shame too all-consuming to divert his mind from. But he’s not going to tell Victor that. From the looks of it, the man feels bad enough already.

 

Across the table, Victor’s eyes widen at the confession.

 

“Ah, but I, I still shouldn’t have,” he stammers shakily.

 

“Victor, you have nothing to be sorry for, stop apologizing.” Yuuri’s tired. He’s drained and exhausted and he just wants to go to bed. He has no time for apologetic Russian men looking for a fuck, but he figures if they do it quick, he’ll get it over with and he can go to bed.

 

He stands up, wincing at the screech of his chair. He turns to the bedroom and looks over his shoulder. Victor looks confused.

 

Gesturing towards the bedroom with a nod of his head, Yuuri says, “Do you want to, you know?” wincing at how lame he sounds.

 

Victor’s eyes widen and he jumps up, shaking his head vehemently. Wow, was last time really that terrible for him?

 

“I, Yuuri, Yuuri, that’s not—that’s not what I came for,” he sputters.

 

Victor walks until he’s a step away from Yuuri. He takes Yuuri’s face into his hands and tilts his head up to meet his eyes.

 

Victor inhales shakily. It’s interesting, Yuuri’s usually the nervous one in their non-relationship.

 

“You—you really liked last time?” he asks, unsure.

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers, softly.

 

Victor swallows, and Yuuri watches as his adam’s apple bobs up and down.

 

“Yuuri, you are so much more than just sex for me,” he begins, “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, but you have to know I’m in love with you...I’m yours if you’ll have me.” His voice seems to falter and he whispers the last part, so quietly Yuuri wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t a hair’s breadth away.

 

 _Victor loves him._ Yuuri remembers loving Victor, right here on the kitchen island, months and months ago. He thinks that he might still love him, but he can’t tell. If this were a year ago, or if Yuuri weren’t so exhausted, so mentally and emotionally drained, he might have felt something, might have told Victor he loves him too and maybe then they would have finally gotten the happily ever after they deserved. (None of that happens)

 

Instead Yuuri tells him: “Victor, you don’t even know me.”

 

And he gets to watch as Victor’s face crumples and he thinks that he hears Victor’s heart shatter, as he feels a hairline fracture start to split his own heart in two. Victor’s hands fall from his face and he takes a step back, away from Yuuri, and pastes on the fake, watery smile that he came here with.

 

Never mind that it’s true, now Yuuri wants to take back those words more than anything. He’d give anything to have Victor’s hands back on his face, give anything to have Victor tell him he loves him again.

 

“Okay,” Victor sighs, and it’s the dejected sigh of a man who’s given up.

 

As Yuuri watches him walk out of his apartment, he thinks he should feel sad, but he doesn’t feel anything at all.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _I'm not a stranger to your touch_ _  
_ _But it's not enough_

 

Victor fucks into him, hard, and fast, and needy. His knees are by his ears, his cock is heavy and neglected, and his hands are scrabbling at Victor’s back, leaving red stripes that Victor once loved and that he’ll regret in the morning.

 

He knows it can’t go on forever. He knows Victor is more, more than he’ll ever be, and more than he can take. Victor is too great and too beautiful for anyone to hold on to, but Yuuri will take whatever Victor can give him. If that’s a fast fuck once a month, so be it. Victor’s been rough ever since Yuuri confessed that he liked it. But now he’s thrusting into Yuuri like he’s trying to make him pay for something. (for breaking his heart)

 

Pulling out, Victor bends over for his discarded tie littered on the floor, and uses it to tie Yuuri’s wrists to the headboard.

 

Yuuri’s eyes widen at this, as all of his power is relinquished to Victor. But he’ll gladly give himself over to Victor if it’s what Victor wants. He’ll give his body willingly, but he keeps his damaged heart locked in a cage while Victor wears his on his cheek, and that’s the problem.

 

Now, Victor’s hands go back to his ass, spreading his cheeks and flicking at the rosy hole as he slides his cock back into Yuuri. Rocking into Yuuri a few times as he strokes him off, they come almost in perfect sync, Victor filling him up with semen and Yuuri painting his own stomach white.

 

Panting hard, Victor reaches up to untie Yuuri’s wrists. He buttons up the pressed shirt that he never took off and knots the tie expertly around the collar.

 

As Victor gets dressed and leaves without a word, Yuuri aches for the days where Victor would stay over without being asked, and they’d wake up tangled up in one another to the early morning glow.

 

Those days of easy intimacy are gone, replaced by something colder and harsher and less forgiving.

 

The more he runs through Victor’s words in his head ( _I’m in love with you_ ), the more he regrets his answer ( _You don’t even know me_ ), because it’s not true anymore, and it never was.

 

He might not know Victor’s favorite color or how he took his tea, but he knows all the things that matter. He knows Victor is kind and smart and too good for this world. He knows that Victor only cares about a few things in his life: skating, Makkachin, and inexplicably, Yuuri. He knows that Victor is constantly surrounded by the media but he’s so alone, without Victor having to tell him that (He can see it in his eyes). He’s watched every single one of Victor’s routines. He’s never told him, but he has. His favorite is _Stammi Vicino,_ but Victor looks so lost. He doesn’t remember if he’s ever seen Victor look any other way.

 

And Victor knows him. He knows that Yuuri gets anxious, he tried to comfort him before Yuuri started to push him away. He knows that Yuuri studied computer engineering in school, and he knows that Yuuri now has a job that has nothing to do with his major. What else is there to know about Yuuri? He thinks Victor knows that he’s alone too.

 

They don’t have to be, Yuuri thinks. They could be happy together. For a second, he lets himself envision waking up next to Victor’s face on the pillow every day and taking Makkachin out for walks together, exploring the city. In fact, they could explore the whole world. He could tag along with Victor during his competitions and together they could see Paris, Beijing, Moscow, Barcelona. They would bicker over stupid things like taking out the trash but then they’d kiss and makeup and have mind blowing sex. He could cook dinners for them and Victor could try to cook and fuck up and they would laugh about it and they wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

 

But now it’s too late. He can’t exactly go begging for Victor to take him. He’s aware he’s being hypocritical by reminiscing over all the things they _could have_ had when he’s the one that’s been closing himself off, when Victor’s done nothing but offer all of himself to Yuuri.

 

Nevertheless, all the same reasons they can’t be together as before still stand. One, Victor would never have time for him, with skating taking up all his time. It’s nice to think that Yuuri could tag along during his competitions, but the truth is, Yuuri has a life of his own. A life that doesn’t leave a lot of time for friends or love, but only a job that takes up all his energy. He could never afford to quit his job because he has bills to pay, and sure, Victor’s rich, but Yuuri won’t take handouts from anybody. Two, The media would tear them apart ( _An openly gay couple? What bad publicity!_ ) and he doesn’t want to ruin Victor’s career, one of the only things Victor still has.

 

But he loves Victor. And Victor loves him. It’s just not enough. (But it could be)

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _Maybe honesty is missing here?_ _  
_ _But our bodies say it easier_

 

“Can I stay?” Yuuri asks, hesitant, hating how needy he sounds.

 

Victor blinks, but gathers himself. “Of course, _moya lyubov,_ ” he answers, with a soft grin.

 

Yuuri offers a shaky smile in return and slides under the covers gratefully. He hates that he’s doing this, hates that he’s leading Victor on, hates that he’s being so _selfish._ But he doesn’t think he can spend another night alone, and if Yuuri wakes up next to him, maybe he can pretend just for a second that this is the life they could have.

 

Victor lays down next to him, leaving distance between them, respectful of Yuuri and his boundaries, aware that Yuuri’s been closing him off lately. But Yuuri hates it. He scoots over and slings an arm across Victor’s muscled abs, hiding his face in Victor’s neck and pressing a kiss there. He feels Victor stiffen, then relax, and he smiles.

 

He wants to tell Victor he loves him. Now seems like the time. But he still can’t believe that a relationship with the two of them would work. Still thinks that Victor should find someone as good as him to stay with him, nevermind that Yuuri’s eliminating all possibilities of that by being selfish and keeping Victor for himself.

 

So instead of “I love you,” he whispers, “Victor, what does _moya lyubov_ mean?”

 

At this, he feels Victor tense again. He frowns.

 

“Ah, it’s nothing, Yuuri, don’t worry about it,” Victor tries brushing it off, but it’s with an air of forced casualty.

 

Yuuri hums, displeased with the answer, but not wanting to push it. They fall asleep with their bodies pressed together, but hearts miles apart.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _Don't get your hopes up about me, no, no_  
_At the same time, when I get lonely_  
_Drop everything, when you see that I'm calling_  
_'Cause just for the night_ _  
_ I'll be what you want me to be, yeah

 

“Victor?”

 

“...Yuuri?”

 

“Hey,” Yuuri was already regretting it. What was he doing?

 

It’s just, he was feeling so...alone. Don’t get him wrong, he’s used to it, sure, but the loneliness was consuming him and he couldn’t get out of his head and to be honest, he missed Victor. It’d been over a month since he’d seen him, since Victor had been busy with the Grand Prix Final and then Russian nationals. But he’s back in the states now, and Yuuri misses him so much.

 

“I, um, was wondering if you wanted to come over? Like later?” he grimaces at his awkward tone.

 

But Victor doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care. “Sure, Yuuri! I’ll be there, is seven a good time for you?”

 

“Sure,” Yuuri says, hanging up the phone.

 

He feels a little guilty he supposes. It feels ridiculous to have a world champion be at his beck and call, calling him just because he felt a little _lonely._ What was he thinking? He sighs. It's fine,  _just one more night_ , he thinks to himself. He can afford one more night.

 

At seven, Yuuri opens the door and whisks Victor in, practically dragging him to the bedroom and pushing him against the wall, crashing his lips into his.

 

He kisses and he takes, needy and greedy and so hungry for it, and Victor complies, enthusiastically. He feels Victor’s arousal growing, and jams his leg between Victor’s, smirking when he hears Victor’s breath hitch.

 

He keeps kissing Victor as he stealthily unbuttons Victor’s pants and pushes down his boxers.

 

“ _Don’t ever take your eyes off me,”_ Yuuri rasps, as he sinks to his knees.

 

Victor throws an arm over his eyes as he leans back and Yuuri grabs his dick at the base.

 

Pressing a butterfly kiss to the tip and licking up the precum, Yuuri looks up and winks at Victor, enjoying the flush on his lover’s face and the way his legs shake.

 

Then he takes Victor’s entire length in and _sucks_ , bobbing his head up and down.

 

“ _F-fuck, Yu—Yuuri…”_

 

Yuuri keeps going until there’s a tug on his hair, and he looks up at Victor’s flushed and beautiful face and thinks _at least I’ve done one thing right._

 

“Yuuri, I can’t last much longer…” Victor whines. He guides Yuuri to the bed and sets him down gently, crawling over him to press a loving (longing) kiss to his lips. Undressing him slowly, Victor’s eyes seem to linger on every part of his body that becomes exposed, and Yuuri, who once would have squirmed and covered up under Victor’s reverent gaze, now positively _relishes_ having Victor’s full attention on him.

 

Licking his lips, Yuuri says, “Fuck me, Victor.”

 

And _fuck_ , Victor does. He spreads Yuuri’s cheeks apart and loosens him up carefully with one finger, then two, and when he thinks he’s ready, he lines up his cock to Yuuri’s entrance and looks to him for approval. With a nod from Yuuri, Victor thrusts in, forcing a whimper out of Yuuri.

 

He thrusts shallowly in and out of Yuuri all while kissing the other man, and Yuuri has his hands tangled up in Victor’s hair, and it’s perfect and gentle and sweet, and it’s everything that Yuuri has been wanting but too shy to ask for these last couple of months.

 

He doesn’t know it, but it’s what Victor’s been wanting too.

 

With a thrust, Victor brushes against his prostrate and he brings a hand up to muffle his moans. 

 

" _Yuuri..._ let me hear you," Victor whispers in his ear, "I want to hear you scream my name,  _moya lyubov."_

 

 

So he does. " _V-Victor!"_ Victor strokes his cock in time with his thrusts, " _F-fuck, Victor..._ "

 

When they finish within seconds of each other, they lay under the covers, cuddled in bed, with Victor’s head laying on Yuuri’s chest.

 

 _I love you_ , he thinks, he wishes he could say, as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of Victor’s head.

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

 _I don't wanna be your girlfriend_ _  
_ _I just wanna play with your hair_

 

Yuuri’s lying on his bed, fingers tangled in hair made of moonlight, admiring the way Victor looks when he’s asleep, open and vulnerable. (sad)

 

He watches Victor’s pale chest rise and fall with each steady breath as he tries to steady his own breathing, because lately, Victor’s the only thing, the only person that can calm him down.

 

Oh the irony, the person that he’s having a meltdown over, is the only one that can cure it.

 

Despite his best efforts to calm himself, Yuuri still feels the tears drop on his pillowcase because he still _wants wants wants_ what he can’t have. He doesn’t know why he’s making this so difficult for himself. He can easily imagine himself saying, “ _Victor, I love you”_ , and then they would fall into the easy kind of domestic lifestyle in the way that only soulmates can. Because Yuuri’s sure that’s what they are by now.

 

But the problem is, he can just as easily imagine the ensuing fight that will inevitably break out two months later, over Victor’s expensive and _busy, busy, busy_ lifestyle that leaves no time for Yuuri. He can imagine the yelling and the crying so easily that he thinks it’s better this way, that the brief moments of happiness, of not being alone, isn’t worth the inescapable and imminent pain of breaking up. So to save them both the pain, he never says anything. (He should have)

 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

_But I'm not brave enough to lose what's already there_

 

“Yuuri, I’m going back to Russia.”

 

Victor is at his doorway, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets, staring at his feet.

 

Yuuri blinks in surprise.

 

“Oh,” he starts, “for how long?”

 

Victor looks up, his brow furrowed, “Forever, Yuuri,” he answers softly.

 

Yuuri sucks in a gasp. _Oh._

 

He doesn’t know what to say, there are so many things running through his mind right now, from _I love you,_ to _don’t go, I need you,_ to _why?,_ all of them equally selfish and none of them that he can say. So he doesn’t say anything at all.

 

“Yakov’s going back, and I need to train under him for the next season, so,” Victor scratches at the back of his neck, still not meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

 

“And I think it’s better this way, Yuuri,” he adds, so faint that Yuuri almost misses it.

 

Yuuri feels a prickle behind his eyes and hurriedly blinks back his tears. _No, he can’t cry right now. He doesn’t deserve to cry, doesn’t deserve Victor._ He swallows down his sobs only to look up to find tears running down Victor’s face. _Even when he’s crying, he’s beautiful._

 

Yuuri reaches up to move Victor’s silver hair out of his eye, and wants so desperately to beg, beg him not to go. He wonders if Victor would actually stay for him, if he asked. (He would)

 

But he doesn’t. He can’t be selfish now, not when Victor is looking like that, like he’s breaking, like he’s leaving his heart here with Yuuri. He’s right when he says it’s better this way. This way, Victor can find someone who can actually keep up with his lavish lifestyle, and Yuuri can find a way to move on. (Neither of them want to)

 

So he loops his arms around Victor’s neck, pulls him close, and holds him tightly because for now, it’s all either of them have.

 

“ _Dasvidaniya, moya lyubov,”_ Victor whispers, and he’s gone.

 

Later, Yuuri finally looks up “ _moya lyubov_ ” on google translate, and when the definition loads, he starts to cry. He cries for _what might have been,_ or _what_ should _have been,_ because they should have had this, they could have had this, they could have both been _happy,_ and he let it slip through his fingers.

 

Moya lyubov = My love.

 


End file.
